


Green Eyes

by coolattaz



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half Life VR But The AI Is Self-Aware
Genre: Autistic Tommy Coolatta, Blood, Blood and Injury, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, different POV of another fic, excessive citation of osha standards, not tagging gordon until the tag is split, only in the beginning, pspspsps come get your gay people, tommy thinks gordon hates him for a bit that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolattaz/pseuds/coolattaz
Summary: He really wanted to move closer. But he just stared at Gordon. He had pretty eyes. The green reflected the glow from his own eyes. He liked it.Tommy likes Gordon. Tommy wishes Gordon liked him back.
Relationships: Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 122





	Green Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Yellow Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377906) by [coolattaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolattaz/pseuds/coolattaz). 



> hello lgbt community. this is a different pov of my other fic [Yellow Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377906), you don't need to read it for this one to make sense but i would still recommend reading it before reading this one. anyways here's gay people

Whenever things went wrong and Tommy began to freak out, he found that the one thing that calmed him the most was reciting what he knew. So he began to recite.

Himself: Tommy Coolatta, 36, no official degree but lots of knowledge. Nepotic intern. Son of a powerful eldritch space being. Eldritch space being. Surprisingly competent. Somehow avoiding a meltdown.

In front of him: Gordon Freeman, 27, MIT graduate and theoretical physicist. Doctor. Father. Currently slumped against the wall, barely alive and barely conscious. Missing an arm. Looking rather dead. Mumbling vacantly.

Around him: Metal and glass and the smell of death. Green light from vats of toxic sludge. This was very against regulation (not that he would tell any of his friends that. He didn’t need them worrying. Lying was not against regulations, after all).

Focus, Tommy. Dying friend in front of you. Dying because you couldn’t get up and help him. Each employee on a walking/working surface (horizontal and vertical surface) with an unprotected side or edge which is 6 feet (1.8 m) or more above a lower level shall be protected from falling by the use of guardrail systems, safety net systems, or personal fall arrest systems.

Right. 

Arm. 

Gordon’s right arm. 

Very dirty. Very bloody. Very missing. 

Tommy dug into the large pockets on the inside of his lab coat and found a first aid kit, which of course he kept on him, because despite knowing the facility’s codes on employee medical treatment and its availability inside and out he did not trust for one second that those government bastards really cared. Also it was good for emergencies. Like this one.

He opened the kit. A small bottle of rubbing alcohol. A bottle, not wipes, because the wipes didn’t give you as much control over the amount of alcohol, though in this case it probably didn’t matter, because he was going to use it all anyways. 

Big wound. 

Focus, Tommy. A surface 6 or more feet above its lower level must have fall arrest systems such as guard rails or safety nets.

“This might sting a bit, Mr. Freeman.” 

He poured the liquid onto his wound, trying to be as gentle as possible, because Gordon was injured and it was partially his fault and. Fucking focus. Focus. Tommy. You can be upset later. Eye and face PPE shall be distinctly marked to facilitate identification of the manufacturer.

Gordon didn’t even react to the alcohol. Tommy wondered if he could really feel much of anything. He didn’t even know how he managed to get here, from wherever the soldiers took him and through the vents to this dingy hellhole. Gordon was very strong. Gordon was saying something. Focus! When the periphery of the blades of a fan is less than seven feet above the floor or working level, the blades shall be guarded.

“Tommy, I--- Gordon-- Gordon need blood,” He gurgled, clearly woozy. He was waving his other arm around, grasping for something that probably neither of them knew what. Tommy couldn’t stand to see him like this. But he had to. Stay calm. Focus. When a platform is-- shit, when a platform--

“I know, Mr. Freeman. Um, the med--the medkits here are already empty. But I’m sure we-we can find some others along the way!” He tried giving him a smile. If Gordon knew the truth about him, he would have instantly known it was fake-- his eyes were dark and dull. Gordon’s eyes were glazed over. Tommy didn’t think he saw or heard him at all. Focus. Gauze. Hold him gently. Focus. It was already staining a horrible red. Focus--

He couldn’t keep focus in his head. He started talking out loud.

“Um, you know, a-according to OSHA regulations the Black Mesa Research Facility is required to keep a medical station within every-- every 200 feet?” Tommy was grateful for the medical books he had read, and wrapped the bandages with a surgical precision. He spouted out whatever OSHA guidelines came to mind first. Medical treatment, handling of radioactive materials, emergency evacuation procedures. Gordon’s eyes started to close. Tommy would have thought he was dying in that moment if not for the content sigh he gave.

Ever so gently, like he was handling a Fabergé egg, or poking a bear, he tapped Gordon’s cheek.

“Hey, you can’t sleep yet,” he whispered. Gordon stared at him groggily, eyes still hazy and mind obviously not very there, but he was looking at him. With a little recognition. So that meant something.

Tommy gave a small smile, for real this time, and Gordon, in all his dizziness gave a vacant one back, somehow full of all the love in the world, and Tommy saw bright yellow reflect off the metal of his HEV suit.

* * *

Tommy was 37 now. Finally. He didn’t know if he would even get to this day during the entirety of their... romp through Black Mesa, but he was here, in his favorite _entertainment center_ , and it was more fun than he could have ever hoped.

Everyone else seemed to be having as much fun as intended-- except Benrey, who had been banned from the party by Tommy’s dad and was staring through the window in his skeleton form, but he did try to murder them all so he would have to deal with it-- but Gordon was off in the corner. 

Tommy, through his heightened senses, could very clearly hear him screaming. It wasn’t horrific and painful, but it was screaming. Tommy didn’t think he was having fun. Tommy was having fun! He wanted Gordon to have fun, too.

Why did he want him to have fun so bad? Because he deserved it after going through all that shit? Yes. Okay. That’s the answer he’d go with.

He came over and sat next to Gordon. He didn’t seem to notice, too busy screaming into his hands. Hands. Plural. Thanks, Dad.

“Mr.-- Mr. Freeman! Are you enjoying the party?” He was giving him a 500 megawatt smile, and it was all real (he could see the light of his own eyes on the others suit again) and when the other man perked his head up at the sound of the voice, Tommy could admit he smiled just a bit wider.

Tommy had great senses, and despite being autistic and never really doing too well with body language, Gordon could be read like a book. Tommy could just see his green eyes, peering out of hands and through his glasses and raking over his face. Transfixed on his mouth. Staring in-between his glowing eyes. He raised his head more, and Tommy would swear he was blushing. Interesting.

“Yeah, uh, I’m having fun. Just kinda partied out right now,” he said, tilting his mouth into a feeble smile. Tommy knew he was lying, Gordon obviously hated being here, but the man hadn’t even tried to leave yet so that had to mean something. Something good. His happiness spread to his hands, and he fluttered them in front of his body. 

“Oh, that's p- that’s p-p-- that’s good!” He could feel his own eyes glowing brighter, and his hands just started going faster, because Gordon looked a lot happier, too, and he was staring at him with a gleam in his eye that he obviously thought he was concealing, but he definitely wasn’t, and he really needed to get his energy out because the party and this man and his loving look were going to drive him nuts.

Gordon had an abandoned cup of grape soda in front of him, so he started talking about a manual he had recently read on the proper maintenance of soft drink machines, and Gordon listened. Tommy was floating on this high, rocking in his chair.

He really liked Gordon. Maybe Gordon liked him back?

* * *

Actually, Gordon hates him. Gordon fucking hates him.

It had been two months since his birthday party. They had robbed a bank together, and that was it. Gordon refused to interact with him.

Technically, Gordon refused to interact with any of them.

They had organized a weekly meetup. The first time, Gordon was radio silent, but eventually texted that he somehow hadn’t received word of the meetup. They had arranged it over email, so it was a viable reason, and so they switched over to a text group and voice chat. That way he could come to the next meeting.

The second time, Gordon said he needed to take Joshua to ‘a thing after school’. Bubby asked why he couldn’t just drop him off and come hang out, but apparently he needed to be there (some kind of parent-teacher conference, or something) and didn’t seem to want to talk about it so they didn’t press further. The man deserved some time with his kid, anyways. He would come to the next meeting.

The third time, Gordon said his car broke down. Tommy offered to give him a ride, invoking his record as the safest driver of the group (and also technically the only one with a license), but Gordon refused, way too quickly, and also hung up on the entire call. That hurt his feelings a bit, and he was starting to miss the man, but he didn’t want to be too intrusive and ask if anything was wrong. He would come to the next meeting.

The fourth time, Gordon said he was sick. Also the fifth, sixth, seventh, and now eighth time. He had a headache, or a cough, or chills, or stomach pains, or all and anything in-between. Tommy was starting to suspect that he was just avoiding them all. Actually, it might just be Tommy he was avoiding.

Saying Gordon didn’t interact with them at all was maybe a bit harsh. Gordon still spoke to them all sometimes. He occasionally went through the drive-through at the McDonald’s Benrey worked at, or stopped for a chat with Bubby when he saw him in the grocery store, or gave a quiet hello to Dr. Coomer at his new library job. But Tommy never got the chance. Gordon was pointedly ignoring him.

Of course he saw him out and about, they lived in the same town, it was bound to happen. Tommy watched Gordon notice him, and every time, immediately turn around and walk away. Because he was fucking avoiding him. Because he hated him. Probably.

He never said that he hated him, and the rest of his friends repeatedly assured him that Gordon didn’t hate him, but then why would he absolutely refuse to even go near Tommy?

So the eighth time Gordon said he was sick, Tommy offered to come over with medicine. And he called him Gordon, because he was being serious now, and Mr. Freeman didn’t have that bite to it. For the first time Tommy actually thought Gordon might really be sick, because the yes he gave back was quiet and raspy.

So Tommy was here, on the other man’s couch, hand pressed onto his forehead in a way that was maybe too familiar for his liking, and he felt totally fine. Of course. Because he wasn’t sick, and Gordon knew that and Tommy knew that but Tommy didn’t know if Gordon knew that Tommy knew that. But Gordon seemed to like the blanket Tommy had made for him, so that was at the very least something. 

Tommy’s free hand was running over the quilt, feeling the texture, soothing him and distracting him from the fact that Gordon was openly gawking at his face. Sure, he was a bit close (his body felt like it was moving in on its own), but there were still other things to look at. And Gordon was staring down at his mouth and up at his eyes again, and he had that look again, that Tommy thought was loving but maybe he was just confused. Because a man who loved him would not have avoided him for two months, surely.

“You feel fine,” Tommy finally said, pulling his hand away, also tracing it along the quilt. “Are you sure-- are you sure you’re sick?”

Tommy knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Gordon would tell the truth. He didn’t want to beat around this bush any longer.

Gordon let out a nervous laugh, and lied through his teeth. “Um, you know, I think it was more my stomach--”

“Gordon.”

Tommy was tired of this. Gordon looked uncomfortable, shivering despite the blanket, but Tommy pressed further.

“Why do you keep avoiding everyone?” 

Gordon flipped from staring at Tommy to very obviously avoiding looking at him. The portraits on the walls and the off TV were definitely not so interesting that he had to intensely stare at them. Tommy felt him pull the quilt into his fists, and Tommy mildly worried that he might be a little angry.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice wasn’t angry, though. It was nervous. Avoiding.

Tommy put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder and leaned in close, and maybe he would have thought about he was way too close to him but he was too close to the truth.

“I’m not… I’m not avoiding _everyone_.” He said. Despite being closer now he suddenly found an excuse to once again look everywhere but at Tommy.

“Just me?”

“Yeah.” 

Oh. 

That hurt.

Gordon’s prosthetic hand flew over his mouth, and he looked over at Tommy with some kind of shock, as if he never thought he’d admit it. But he did. And Tommy didn’t understand what he did to deserve this.

“Did I– Did I do something wrong?” Tommy asked. He pulled away from Gordon; he didn’t need to make him more hateful by taking up his personal space. There was no intimacy for him here.

But then Gordon yelled “No-- wait!” and grabbed his shoulders and pulled him real close, and Tommy’s head spun a little because this was much much _much_ closer than he’d ever dare get. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Tommy, I promise. I’m just dealing with all these fucking feelings right now.”

Oh. _Oh_.

Gordon was looking him right in his eyes now, green meeting yellow, and he had that clear look that said _I love you and I don’t know how to tell you_ and begged him to close the small gap between them. He was getting overzealous, surely.

“…what kind of… f-feelings?” He asked. He didn’t dare speak too loud, almost as if he would scare Gordon away. And he was so close. If he moved his mouth too much it might touch Gordon’s accidentally, and Tommy didn't know what he would do if that happened.

Gordon held his shoulders tighter, and Tommy liked the pressure. He wished he would touch him more. He really wanted to move closer. But he just stared at Gordon. He had pretty eyes. The green reflected the glow from his own eyes. He liked it.

“Can I kiss you?” Gordon finally asked. He was so quiet, like he was afraid Tommy might say no, as if Tommy would ever say no to that. Tommy couldn’t even make his brain form a yes, so he just relented to what his whole body was screaming at him to do and closed the space between them.

Gordon’s lips were chapped and his goatee tickled Tommy’s face and Tommy fucking loved it all. He had to do something with his hands before he started flapping and accidentally hit Gordon, so he took to covering Gordon’s hands on his shoulders, interlocking their fingers. 

Gordon closed his eyes, moving his lips against Tommy’s, and Tommy couldn’t keep his hands still, so he moved, tracing the other man’s body up his arms and chest, up to his face, cupping it in such a familiar way. He pulled him in just that much closer, thumb caressing one of his cheeks. Gordon squeezed his shoulders again in response. Both saying _I love you, I love you, I love you, please don’t let me go._

Tommy found himself out of breath, and separated their lips, and he could have cried at the loss of contact. It was just one kiss, but he was already breathing heavy, lips wet and face red. Gordon opened his eyes again, and once again the green was washed out by the yellow glow, and Gordon looked at him like he was the sun and he felt like it. He felt so warm and happy. He was going to die. Supernova. Gordon loved him. He wondered how he could have ever thought anything different.

“Can we-- can I--” Gordon sputtered, clearly just as out of it as Tommy, but he knew what the other man was asking and he couldn’t be more happy to oblige. He would kiss Gordon forever, if he would let him. 

Gordon pulled him back in, and they kissed again, and again, and again and again and again. Making up for lost time.

* * *

Himself: Tommy Coolatta, 37, taken for nearly half a year now. Joshua’s new (unofficial, technically) second dad.

Beside him: Gordon Freeman, 27, the most perfect man in the universe. Finally no longer a hermit. 

In front of him: The tv, blaring some dumb kid’s movie. Tommy had a scientific appreciation for the art of animation, but this was mind-numbing. It was put on for Joshua, but he was sleeping now. On top of Tommy, actually. The whole Freeman family seemed to be made up of cuddlers.

He had no particular reason to recite, no stress pulling at his mind. He just liked to categorize and store every moment of this new life, write and file away these small memories for later. It was finally something he could enjoy doing.

He wanted to stay awake, take in the domestic scene as much as he could, but his eyes kept drooping. And it was so comfortable here; the warmth of Gordon at his side and the blanket he gave them draped over their laps, Joshua’s weight on his front, it all made him sleepy. Surely he just shut his eyes for a little. It would be fine. He didn’t care about missing the end of the movie (he wasn’t paying attention anyways), and Gordon could just wake him when it was time to properly go to bed.

Or they all could sleep through the night here, waking up in the morning just as comfortable and together as when they went to sleep. That would be fine, too. Perfect, actually.

If Tommy could have kept his eyes open any longer, they would have drowned out the light of the television, bathing the room in a yellow full of all the love in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> this was linked on Yellow Eyes but [here](https://gordos-feeman.tumblr.com/post/629018445694042112/have-some-gays-peoples-from-jewishtommycoolatta) is some amazing fanart my friend/beta made. go look at it


End file.
